21 Years Old: Moved to Vietnam, Opened a Hostel—Stories from the Trenches
A lot unfolded in my early 20s, all at a rapid pace. I was juggling school, multiple jobs, and crafting a business plan with grand ambitions of relocating to Asia, never to look back.
I grew tired of London, even though I had not ventured much beyond East London up until that point. My favourite uncle, one of the most cherished people in my life, lost his battle with cancer while I was working on the set of Holby City. The monotonous day-to-day of being in a fake hospital ward began to wear on me mentally and physically, especially as I spent most of my free time visiting him in the hospital before he died. I was over it—the long journeys to Elstree, the cold grey days, the lack of personal time. And the weird work dynamics—I just wasn’t built to kiss people's arses, and I hated how men would sexualise women in this environment, including me and this is all before the #MeToo movement. Frankly, I was exhausted.
I decided to embark on a backpacking trip and eventually move to Vietnam, believing it would solve all my problems. Initially, it did provide some relief, but ultimately, it brought new challenges. I moved to Hanoi to take over a bankrupt 3-star hotel with plans to transform it into a backpackers' hostel. I vividly remember arriving in the middle of the night at my own hostel, meeting my new team for the first time.
That night, it was just a glass of water and off to bed; the next morning marked the beginning of my wild new life and this very decision changed the course of my life forever. We had a large group of holistic medicine students staying with us from the outset, so I immediately found myself in the kitchen, ensuring they were fed before their classes. Starting out, there were numerous challenges, as I had never run a hostel before and was learning on the job. I recall sending the team to a local 5-star hotel for training, which proved incredibly valuable. For a significant period, we ranked number one on TripAdvisor and were one of the top hostels in Hanoi. This was before TikTok and Instagram wasn’t that big, it was very much still the travel blog era. It was a hell of a time to be alive, and I was meeting all sorts of new people—some came specifically to meet the 21-year-old running the hostel - me.
At that time, I was a confident but somewhat neurotic character—a 21-year-old living independently in Vietnam, basking in the freedom and support from friends and locals. This mix of independence and admiration provided a significant boost, I felt like I was living my best life. But then, out of nowhere, we started haemorrhaging money, and everything got a lot more complicated. This marked a turning point; suddenly, everything felt more real. Fortunately, after a few months, we turned a profit again. It was a steep learning curve that ultimately altered many of my decisions about running a hostel and how I wanted to proceed. Those were truly difficult months.
Simultaneously, I was in my first serious relationship, which began unexpectedly after meeting at the opening of his restaurant. This led to frequent trips to Hong Kong because he lived there —I must have gone 11 times while we were together. It helped alleviate the loneliness I felt from constantly saying goodbye to guests. Managing a place where many guests were my age led to genuine connections, and while I tried to maintain professionalism, being 21 made things interesting. I remember a phase when I'd take travellers to local street beer spots and snack joints, to parties, even illegal ones in communist Vietnam, where secret knocks and garage entrances led to dance floors with loud techno and EDM music. I even had a taxi driver brandish a machete during an argument over fare once—after a while, such incidents almost became routine.
I often daydream about that golden stretch when the business finally found its footing and life felt like a beautifully orchestrated chaos. I lived right next door to the hostel, perched above a bustling beauty salon, with a landlady who treated me like family. It was a time when everything clicked, a sweet spot of perfect imperfection, where every day was a new adventure and every night was a story waiting to be told.
I became accustomed to being surrounded by strong Vietnamese women who were all bosses in their own right. I miss my luxurious gym and the vibrant markets. Riding my moped, watching sunsets from rooftop cafes, weekly spa visits for massages, facials, and manicures— it was an ideal lifestyle. I'd call my favourite coffee maker, who'd deliver coffee on his bike and shout “em cafe” when he arrived. Coffee was so affordable; I'd treat everyone around me. He even came to celebrate my birthday one time. I remember this French chef made me the best cake I have ever had to date - a delicious red velvet cake that everyone loved at the time.
It was a time of genuine joy and freedom, with my partner adding perfection to each day. Balancing life between the rustic charm of Hanoi and frequent trips to Hong Kong created a dynamic where we missed each other just enough with plenty of stories to tell each other. Despite never indulging in drugs during that phase, the emotions were exhilarating and euphoric, akin to a perpetual MDMA high. The city and its people embraced me like a warm, comforting hug. The excitement of it all often kept me awake, reluctant to let any moment slip away.
But of course, not everything can be this good and rosy. I always say, stay in a place long enough, and you’ll start to see the cracks because no place is perfect.
Running a business solo, despite having business partners, proved to be incredibly challenging. It shook my confidence, forced me to reevaluate my values and identity, and changed everything. In the world of business, the distinction between right and wrong blurs, and it's in these moments that you truly discover if you're cut out for this life.
The police in Hanoi were notoriously corrupt during that time, consistently demanding bribes for protection. I often faced intimidation tactics, with individuals pressuring me to open bank accounts and transfer money to accounts in Russia. I just had never been exposed to anything like this before.
Hanoi's weak governance made it a haven for illegal activities. Not only were there issues with corrupt police, but it also facilitated the trafficking of endangered species and things like ivory and rhino horn. These items passed through Vietnam due to lax enforcement, eventually reaching China—a well-known route for such illicit trade.
The city was a hub for illegal firearms, explosives, and ammunition. It was alarming to see multiple guns in one place first hand, highlighting the extent of illicit activities thriving in the midst of this crazy city and it was happening all on my doorstep.
It’s strange; one moment you are innocently opening a hostel in Vietnam and the next you are being groomed to be these people's friends all because of the passport you hold. It wasn’t a nice place anymore, and no amount of comfort could relieve me of this stress. In the process, my anxiety was at an all-time high, and my skin would break out in hives because of all the stress. I felt like I couldn’t trust anyone anymore and I didn’t feel safe. It was a turning point where I had to reassess my life's direction.
I told my boyfriend that I wanted to move back to London and maybe restudy—perhaps take food more seriously. So, that became the next part of my journey. However, it was really difficult because I was now splitting my time between London and Hong Kong. I was extremely erratic, anxious, and miserable because I missed my partner all the time. My anxiety got so bad that I started having frequent panic attacks. It was undoubtedly one of the most challenging periods of my life, navigating a sea of uncertainties and overwhelming emotions.
However, one thing I cherished was the freedom—it was the first time I truly felt like an adult. I loved waking up to sunny, warm days. Early mornings at the flower market, sipping hot tea and watching people make flower deals before 6 a.m., and then returning to work at the hostel became my routine. From fancy coffees at a French café with friends to eating street food among locals, riding my moped and observing daily life—every detail seemed worth sharing with my boyfriend, who I would text and call all the time. Those short eight months of my life were bliss, and that’s something I hold onto dearly.
I would come back home to a box full of kisses, the chocolates - marking the anniversary of our first kiss and so much more. I was in Vietnam for almost two years, but those perfect eight months were something out of a film: running around town chasing sunsets, drinking at new bars, trying every single restaurant—everything tasted amazing. The friendships were deep, and the pool parties overlooking West Lake were something out of an '80s movie—cheap cocktails and even cheaper cigarettes.
The community and the drama—I would bump into people I knew on a regular basis, mingling with both locals and the expat community. I loved listening to people courting each other and asking for advice on how to impress someone; it was so fun. People were dreaming and starting new businesses. It was always warm, and whenever I needed to get away, Sapa was my retreat to village life up in the rice fields on the mountains with Lady Mao, my favourite Hmong tribe friend.
It was a whole life packed into under two years, and looking back, it feels surreal. Sometimes, it's only the pictures and random conversations that make it feel real because the people in my life now are not the same. Since then, I’ve lived in three different countries and traveled to, I don’t know, like fifty countries, quite extensively too. I’ve met hundreds of people, and so much has happened. Sometimes, for a split second, I almost doubt whether that was even my life. It was, and it is, but it’s uncommon to meet people who live multiple lives, so sharing this feels almost unbelievable. When you do meet people from that past, people who share similar experiences and have lived three or four lives in one, you kind of hold on to them because you’re like, wow, okay, you understand me and understand how profound these experiences are.
What I can say is that I’ve learned it's important to live your life fully and how wonderful it has been to try to live it to the fullest—whatever that means to you. For me, it means living authentically.
I’m 30 now, and I know not many of us can say we’ve had a profound 20s, but I can say mine was pretty incredible. If that means I don’t get to have the most euphoric eight months ever again, so be it, but I do believe it will happen again. In some ways, life has been remarkable, and I only want it to get better and continue to have those magical feelings.
Since then, I have moved to London a couple of times, and, God, did I see more than just East London. I worked all over, predominantly in Central London, and saw some crazy things. I even lived off Baker Street for a summer, baking of course. My jobs have taken me to places I couldn’t even dream of, to be honest. I remember 20-year-old me looking at Tumblr pictures of beautiful settings, and now I’m like, “Yeah, I was there last week.” In fact, I just got back from Japan.
Now I live in Berlin, working as a food stylist for a huge international corporation and running pop-ups, which also give me a huge sense of gratification and happiness. I get to work with my hands as a creative, and I feel like I’m learning all the time. I’m very grateful that the younger version of me decided to leave East London, even though I very much miss home and sometimes, just sometimes, wonder what life would have been like if I had stayed. But that’s the great thing about where I live now—it’s close enough but far enough to challenge me and make me think differently.
Thank you, young Rez. I know you were scared and I know you went through some shit, but you reached your 30s, and damn, you’ve been killing it. Sometimes you just need to give yourself a pat on the back.
The track I’ll leave you with you with today is Plenty by Guru and Erykah Badu.
Love,
Rez
I love this, it was a great read! I rarely meet people who have had vibrant lives in their 20s, sometimes I think it's gone out of style - I'm grateful to have travelled and loved abroad extensively pre-IG, too. So just saying hi!
Awwww Rez this was such a lovely read 🥺